


I Found You

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, But Definite Jopper, Coming For Feels, F/M, Gen, Light Description of Torture, Minor Mileven, More Mother Daughter Feels Than Jopper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 17:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: A confrontation with Dr. Brenner ends in tragedy. Jane Hopper is determined to not lose another mother, and sets out to rescue Joyce.





	I Found You

Jane ‘El’ Hopper and Joyce Byers had been missing for three weeks by the time they emerged from the Mirkwood treeline. Joyce was unconscious, floating in midair as Jane trailed behind, her was stark white save for the smoot smears,  visibly blue veins, her dark irises set stark against red-rimmed eyes, and the blood pouring from her nostrils. This was the image that wormed it’s way into Nancy Wheeler’s brain and made a dark little home, as she was making her daily round of scanning the area for signs of life. She slammed on the brakes, so close to hitting Joyce that she felt the impact in her chest as the oxygen left her body. 

“Jesus!” Nancy swore as she rounded to the front of her car. The moment Jane recognized her, she girl collapsed, striking the ground at the same time as Joyce, who was no longer bound by the young girl’s strange and terrible power. 

Nancy barely managed to give a coherent report through her tears as she ran threw open the passenger-side door and groped for the walkie-talkie in the front seat. 

Both Jane and Joyce were transported to Hawkins General, private rooms were arranged and Dr. Owens was immediately called in from his new position at Northwestern. Jane, it was quickly realized, had suffered no injuries save for dehydration, malnutrition, and smoke inhalation during her disappearance. Joyce was another story, one that Jane recounted dispassionately as she sat vigil for yet another incapacitated mother figure.

They had been kept underground. Jane was sure where, but she had walked carrying Joyce for a long, long time, she felt. 

“Follow the smoke,” had been the only thing the girl had repeated for a full two days before the moment she found more words, after being told that Joyce still had not regained consciousness. By then, Owens’ people had already located the bunker, and the charred remains of several people, one of which was positively identified as Martin Brenner. 

“He hurt her so I would do things… use my powers… so I wouldn’t hurt him. He gave me stuff that made me sleepy a lot, so I wouldn’t do anything when I was alone in that room…” Jane’s voice wavered and trailed off as her large brown eyes filled with tears, she kept her eyes on Joyce and not the large, broken man pacing from one end of the room to the other. She couldn’t bear to look at his face, at the plain grief he made no attempt to conceal. She could hear his hoarse breathing, punctuated by what sounded suspiciously like a keening whimper. She didn’t know that he had already seen the road map of proof on Joyce’s body, the bruises, the cuts, the cigarette burns - those little things that were less apparent than her broken ribs and the contusions. 

“The fire was my fault, D-dad…” Jane buried her face in her hands, curling up into the uncomfortable metal chair. She tensed up when she felt Jim’s arms around her, felt the undeserved kisses on the top of her head. She tried to push him off, sobbing about her unworthiness, but he didn’t let go. 

“You don’t have to keep talking, kid,” Jim murmured tearfully against her hair. “It’s okay, you’re both home.”

“No… no, I’m home, she’s not. L-let me… pl-please let me try… I can bring her back if you let me.”

“Carrying her almost killed you. Let her try to come back on her own, she still might–”

Jane shook her head, pushing against his chest with balled up fists. Jim pulled back, gently grasping her shoulders. “He had her hooked like like Mama. He was going to turn it up all the way, and then I made everything…” She had tried to control the outburst, tried to put some method into it, and she had pulled Joyce off the table almost simultaneously with the explosion, but it had all happened so fast. She was breathless, nearly choking out the words between her loud, hiccuping sobs. “I killed her, I killed her…”

“No, no, no, no… kid.” She was pulled back into Jim’s strong and sure embrace. “You got her out in time, you did. The doc says that’s not what’s keeping her like this, I promise.”

“You’re lying!” Jane shrieked, slapping at his chest. He cupped the back of her head and anchored her against the curve of his shoulder, rocking her and rubbing gentle circles against her back.

“I’m not, I swear. On Sarah’s grave I am not lying to you…”

“Then let me find her.” Jane’s tone was resolute.

“No.” So was Jim’s. 

_________

 

“Are you seriously guarding me so I won’t try to find her?” Jane asked, narrowing her eyes at Mike Wheeler as he sat on the armchair in the corner of Joyce’s hospital room. The occasional beep from the monitor, sliced through the uncomfortable silence. 

 

“You won’t leave and the Chief has to sleep.” Mike nodded towards the cot at the end of the bed, where Jim slept fitfully. The amount of people in the room was completely against protocol, but no one was prepared to contradict the Chief of Police or the hotshot doctor from Chicago. Jonathan and Will were out picking up dinner. 

“You know you won’t be able to stop me if I do it, right?” Jane inquired before pressing her lips into a thin, determined line, her chin jutting out stubbornly. 

 

Mike laughed nervously. “What, are you going to hurt me?” His tone was thin and weak in the face of Jane’s unchanging expression.

 

“I don’t want to, but none of you are listening to me. I know I can bring her back.”

 

“Hopper said you’re still weak. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

 

“Hopper doesn’t know anything. I’m fine, I promise.” She softened her eyes as they stung with tears, her chin trembling. “I can’t lose another mom. Please, Mike, let me try.”

 

Mike shook his head and swore softly under his breath and stood, stretching his arms high above his head. “I’m going to the bathroom and getting some a pop. Do you want one?”

 

“Ginger ale. Thank you.” She leaned into his side hug and sighed as he kissed the top of her head. 

 

“You better be okay, or Hopper’ll kill me for sure. Don’t stay too long, okay? If you think it’s not going to work you leave.”

 

“It’s gonna work. See you soon, Mike.”

 

Mike swore once more, muttering about how dead he was, before storming out of the room. Jane willed the door to shut, the lock clicking into place. There was a faint trickle in her nose, but no headache, no tell-tale drain that started behind her eyes and sank, rhuematic-like, through her bones. It was a good sign.

 

“I’m not weak,” Jane muttered, pulling a red bandana from the pocket of her jeans, and tying it in front of her eyes. “I’m coming, Joyce.”

 

_________

 

The room was pitch black, save for a bed in the distance. Jane could make out the shape of a dark-haired woman in a white nightgown cradling something in her arms and singing - as she grew closer, she knew she had found Joyce. The woman was singing a song, it was sweet but unfamiliar. 

 

_ You don't have to say you love me just be close at hand _

_ You don't have to stay forever I will understand… _

 

Jane felt as though she was trespassing on something she had no business witnessing - Joyce appeared young, soft and utterly enthralled by the tiny baby in her arms -  but her heart ached for the only mother figure she had ever known. It was unfair, they had had so little time together, and who was this baby anyway?

 

“Joyce.” Jane decided to trespass. Joyce stopped singing, looked up, and turned her head towards Jane. Her kind brown eyes widened with recognition and her soft mouth curved into a gentle smile. 

 

“Hello, sweetie. Would you like to come see Jonathan?” Joyce patted the mattress, beckoning Jane to come closer. The younger girl felt tears sting her eyes as she rushed over and crawled into bed next to Joyce, resting her head against her shoulder, and sighing when she didn’t disappear in a puff of smoke, like most people did in the dark place. Baby Jonathan was unremarkable; a shock of cornsilk atop a red, squishy face. 

 

“Isn’t he perfect?” Joyce asked, kissing Jonathan on the forehead. 

 

Jane wrinkled her nose and shrugged. Babies weren’t cute, or perfect - they were boring. “I guess. When are you coming home?”

 

Joyce turned and sighed mournfully against the side of Jane’s head, ruffling her curls. “Is that what you’re here for? I like it here.” 

 

Jane noticed colors begin to swirl around the blackness that surrounded them. As if controlled by strokes from an invisible paint brush, the colors took the form of a carpeted floor, furniture, and walls. Jane immediately recognized it as Joyce’s bedroom, though some of the pictures hanging on the wall were different, and there was generally less clutter. She narrowed her eyes at the photograph on Joyce’s vanity; Joyce was wearing a wedding dress, and Jane didn’t recognize the thin, smallish man standing next to her. There was a noticeable crack running through the glass on his side of the photo.

 

“Jonathan and Will’s father.”

 

Jane made a face. “Lonnie,” she spat out. She sometimes overheard her father use that tone when referring to Jonathan and Will’s father, and she knew that the man used to hurt Joyce when they were together. Anyone who would hurt Joyce earned a permanent spot on Jane’s - what did Dustin call it? - Shit List. 

 

Joyce chuckled softly before cooing at Baby Jonathan who was beginning to fuss. “Yes, Lonnie. I like visiting this memory because he’s not in it. I wasn’t happy at the time, because I had just brought Jonathan home, but in hindsight, I think I should have enjoyed the peace a little more.” 

 

Jane sat up and frowned. “Is that what you’re doing here? Revisiting memories?” She felt relief wash through her. When she had visited her mama, the poor woman had been stuck in a loop with no control over what was playing. She was well and truly gone. In this place, Joyce had complete control over the landscape, she was warm to the touch, and - most importantly - she could talk. 

 

As soon as Joyce nodded, Baby Jonathan disappeared from her arms, and the setting around them began to swirl and shift. Jane gave a little yelp as she fell from the side of the bed and landed on the floor, now hardwood rather than plush carpet. As she stood, she noticed that Joyce’s bed had narrowed to the size of Jane’s bed at home, and the woman now appeared to be no older than Nancy Wheeler; she was dressed in an old-fashioned looking nightgown, white with a pale blue floral pattern. The neck was high and tied off with a blue ribbon and the sleeves were long and puffy. With Young Joyce’s waist-length, wavy auburn hair, she looked all the world like a princess. 

 

“It’s still me, I promise,” Joyce assured Jane as she slid from the bed and stood next to her. 

 

“Where are we?” Jane inquired breathlessly, as she turned to take in her surroundings. The room was smaller, and chaotic. Clothes and magazines were strewn everywhere, and black and white posters were slapped haphazardly on the peeling, floral walls. 

 

“My old bedroom at my dad’s house. It was on the second floor because--” Both girls gave a little shriek at the sound of tapping at the window on the far side of the room. Joyce blushed fiercely and a wide grin spread across her features. “Jimmy.”

 

“Huh?” But Jane was quickly forgotten as Joyce fairly skipped over to the window; there was a steamer trunk beneath that she perched herself on as she unlatched the lock and struggled to push the window up. A young man with a broad, handsome face and thick, wavy blonde hair climbed in, missing the trunk completely and crashing to the floor onto his back.

 

“You idiot, you know my dad is a light sleeper!” Joyce scolded in hushed tones as the boy covered his face to stifle his laughter. She slapped at his chest.

 

“Relax, Horowitz. His truck isn’t even in the driveway. He musta snuck off while you were listening to your records.” Joyce pulled ‘Jimmy’ to his feet - the boy had to be at least a full foot taller than the diminutive young woman, all elbows and adam’s apple as Jane once remembered her dad describe himself at that age.

 

Oh holy shit. 

 

“Dad?” Jane murmured before cringing as the young man hoisted Joyce into his arms so he could give her a kiss that was messy with passion - neither appeared to have heard her puzzled inquiry, swept up in the moment as they were. 

“I guess if he’s gone…” Joyce murmured as he walked her backwards towards the bed.

 

“Oh come on!” Jane protested, sitting on the twin mattress and crossing her arms over her chest. 

 

“Shit,” Joyce cursed. The scene shifted, and Young Jimmy melted away with the rest of the outdated scenery, leaving an older, more tired looking Joyce standing with her back towards Jane. The bed has returned to its normal, roomy size and softness. “Sorry, I kind of forgot you were here for a second. It’s an easy thing to do here… forget.” Joyce turned and gave Jane a sheepish little smile. 

 

“He’s waiting for you, you know. He’s out of his mind worried about you. We all are.” 

 

Joyce’s shoulder sagged and she bit her lip before casting her gaze downwards. “He probably hates me right now.”

 

Jane vehemently shook her head. “That’s stupid! Why would he hate you?”

 

“I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t stop Brenner from taking you and hurting you.” Joyce covered her face with both hands and stifled a sharp sob. Jane felt her chest constrict as she rushed over to throw her arms around Joyce’s waist. She felt Joyce’s arms tighten around her shoulders, and she began to cry against the crook of the woman’s shoulder.

 

“He didn’t hurt me, he didn’t! He hurt you bad though, and you won’t wake up and we need you to wake up because none of us know what to do without you and dad hasn’t left your side. He loves you, and I love you, and Jonathan and Will love you… please just come back.” 

 

“I don’t know, but I-... Oh no.”

 

The temperature grew cold around them, and Jane felt the warmth of the carpet change to a sterile, chilly concrete as the light in the room dimmed. She realized that Joyce was no longer holding her, but was instead bloodied, unconscious, and strapped to a gurney with a leather strap in her mouth. A machine whirred with electricity nearby.

 

“No, I don’t want to be here,” Jane started to chant as she recognized herself sitting at a metal table, wrists strapped down and various photographs strewn in front of her. Papa was circling the perimeter of the gurney and the table, a cattle prod clutched in his hand, the end of it dripping with blood. 

 

“Joyce, wake up, I don’t want to be here! Why would you take us here, we need to leave!” Joyce moaned softly from the gurney, but the other two occupants - Papa and Past Jane (Eleven ‘he’ kept calling her) seemed quite unaware of her presence. 

 

“Look what you’ve done, Eleven. You’ve hurt this innocent woman, and over something so very, very simple. Now, I’m going to ask you to do this one more time, and if you say no… well.” Papa walked over to the gurney, to the equipment nearby, turning a dial that caused the sound of the current to increase in intensity. 

 

“STOP! STOP HIM, JUST DO IT!” Jane’s throat was raw from screaming as she charged towards Papa with her arms outstretched. She rushed right through him. Desperate, she headed for the other side of the table, intent on freeing Joyce and shaking her awake; as before, her hands met empty air. “No, no, no, no… Joyce, where are you? Don’t leave me here, please, please, please…” She dropped to her knees and covered her head to shield her ears for what was sure to come next. 

 

“I wanna leave, I wanna leave…” 

 

Suddenly, Jane felt a peculiar swooping sensation in her stomach as she was whipped backwards by a powerful, invisibly force. The room went black, and then blindingly white as she gasped for air. She realized that she was on her back on a linoleum floor and staring up at the fluorescent lights of Joyce’s hospital room. Her father’s face looked down at her, red and brow furrowed with anger, but his eyes were soft with concern.

 

“For fuck sake, I told you not to, kid…” Jim Hopper pulled his daughter up and into his arms in a bone-crushing hug. 

 

“I found her, but she got away, please let me try again, please.” Jane felt like she would never breathe again as she screamed out her anguish against Jim’s flannel-covered chest.

 

“For Christ sake, never again, do you hear me? Not ever.”

 

“I n-need her…”

 

Jane felt a sob wrack through Jim’s chest. “I do too, kid.”

 

“Mom?” Will’s shocked voice alerted Jane to the fact that she and Jim were not alone. She sniffled and turned to see Jonathan and Will rush to Joyce’s side. The woman’s eyes were partially open, her brow furrowed with confusion as she attempted to look around. Jane left Jim’s arms to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan as they waited for her to say something, anything. Jim was on the opposite side, a large hand covering one of Joyce’s, his eyes shining with tears as his breath came out in hoarse, staccato bursts. 

 

“You… found me,” Joyce whispered, each word sounding painful as she smiled towards Jane. 

 

“Are you okay?” Jane inquired, her vision blurring with tears as Jonathan hugged her to his side. 

 

“Don’t make her talk anymore, she’s tired. You need to rest, Joyce, you look like hell,” Jim muttered, before dashing the back of his hand against the corner of his eyes. 

 

“Ow…” Joyce murmured before closing her eyes, a smile still on her lips.

 

“Told you I’d find her,” Jane announced in a smug, but sleepy tone.

 

“Still grounded.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
